


Well Matched

by ValiantBarnes (Cimila)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Middle Class Family AU, Misgendering, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Parent-Child Relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships, Which is not actively seen in this fic but implied by the AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cimila/pseuds/ValiantBarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to Scarlett Hux, her Father is perfect. As such, she thinks the high standards to which he holds his family is not only acceptable, but logical. What is <i>not</i> logical is his affection for her effectively useless, doe eyed Mother. Love, in and of itself, cannot be the only reason. </p><p>One evening, Scarlett asks a simple question - why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Matched

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based off jo2oo's Middle Class Family AU, which is fucked up and great. I highly suggest you go check that out before you read this. And by highly suggest I mean, you will have about 0 idea of what's going on if you don't. This fic is like the soft core version of the actual au, wherein I don't actually broach any of the things which make this au unique. Whoops. Will have to write more in order to rectify that.
> 
> Also, Häschen is a term of endearment in German, meaning Bunny. (If I fucked it, let me know, German is not a language I am good at)

(My html isn't working so here's the link to Jo2oo's [Middle Class Family AU](http://jo2oo.tumblr.com/post/143174586277/ok-guys-i-come-up-with-this-idea-with-my-friends). Will continue to fiddle with hmtl for the notes, this will disappear when I figure it out.)

 

 

“Father?” Scarlett says, to get his attention. He’s reading a book, in his chair next to the fire, as he always does in the evenings. She’s already brushed her teeth, and put on the pyjamas which her Mother laid out at the end of her bed, as she does - most days. Not all days. Sometimes Scarlett will have to organise her own wardrobe for days at a time. It’s not _hard_ , which is why Scarlett cannot understand her mother’s incompetence.

“Yes, Häschen?” He marks his place with his finger, closes the book, and looks at her. His sharp green eyes pierce straight through her and, as always, Scarlett finds herself comforted by it. You cannot lie to Father, her and Oliver and Mother all know, so there is no use in even trying. There is also very little room for failure and imperfection - the mere memory of the _‘tsk’_ he’d made upon seeing her first mammalian dissection could still bring Scarlett close to tears. As such, Scarlett has finally brought herself to ask the one question she’s never been able to answer herself.

“Why do you tolerate Mother’s ineptitude?” A red eyebrow raises, and for a moment he seems to still completely. There’s a prickle near the base of Scarlett’s spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, suddenly. It happens sometimes, around her Father, but she thinks that this is normal, that it is what happens when you ask your father a particularly difficult or sensitive question. It means, to her, that he is giving your words serious consideration.

She’s never thought to associate the feeling with danger, with fear. She has the perfect Father, after all. He would never lay a hand upon her, and she would never think it of him. He doesn’t even spank her and Oliver, like she knows other parents do to their children. Then again, she and Oliver are not like other children. They do not throw tantrums, or yell and scream like savages. And were Oliver to ever do such a thing, Scarlett would have it well in hand before her Father had to intervene.

Her Father expects the same perfection in his house that he has in his surgery, and delivers it himself. Scarlett does her part in upholding this standard, and makes sure that Oliver doesn’t completely disgrace them. Mother, on the other hand, is incapable of leaving the house to go further than the garden - occasionally the mailbox, on an exceptionally good day, and even then, Father makes sure to watch her from the dining room window, just in case.

“What an unexpected question. Has there been an incident? After I went to work? You know I like to know about those sorts of things as soon as I arrive home.” His eyebrows have drawn together slightly. Not enough for a frown to form, but enough for Scarlett to know that he’s displeased. She hurries to assure him that no such thing has occurred; surely he does not think her so irresponsible to go against his wishes in such a way!

“No, Father! Mother had a very good day today. She made pancakes, and only burnt a few of them. She ate those ones, and Oliver and I had the edible ones. She gave us our bags at the door, and waved as we got on the bus. When we came home, she was cleaning the bathroom, but stopped to give us an afternoon snack. She even remembered to go back to cleaning, afterwards.” Scarlett had already told her Father all of this, of course. Every afternoon, once he gets home from work, and after he greets Mother in an appropriate fashion, Scarlett will stand before the desk in his study and tell him whether Mother had a good or a bad day.

“Then why do you ask, Häschen?” His face has smoothed out once more, and Scarlett is glad, though she keeps her face neutral. Smiling is something she rarely does, same as her father. They both reserve their smiles for special occasions, or for getting others to do as they want. In this way, both Scarlett and her Father smile most at Oliver and their Mother, respectively.

“Even though Mother had a good day today, tomorrow she could very well have a bad one. She could burn breakfast, and mix our lunches up, and cower away from the front door. We could arrive home to her sitting at the table, staring blankly, and nothing we could do or say would be able to rouse her.” When her Mother goes into one of her moods, there are only two things which can shake her out of it. Her Father, and pain. And even then, pain was not always a guarantee. Scarlett and Oliver only ever did it when they needed her for something, which was very rare.

Usually it was easier to leave her to her own devices while they played and waited for Father to get home. Scarlett having need of her Mother while she was completely useless had only ever happened a handful of times, the first of which was when she discovered that pain as a stimulant could rouse the statuesque woman. This had lead to a series of experiments over the months which had followed. This is how she knows that the only thing which can consistently bring her back to life is the low voice and firm touch of her Father.

But, for reference, a sharp knife to the soft skin near the knee is the most reliable method. Each of the few times Scarlett has done it, her mother pouts softly at the cut in her stockings, but smiles when she looks at Scarlett.

‘ _I’m sorry, pumpkin, did you need something? You know how - Mummy, how Mummy gets, sometimes._ ’ Her eyes are warm and loving, but there’s always something off when she refers to herself as _‘Mummy’_ or _‘Mother_.’ A hesitation. A quaver in her voice, where there should be none. Scarlett thinks that, maybe, her Mother never wanted to have children. Maybe she was different, before Scarlett and Oliver - maybe she blames them. These thoughts do not help endear Scarlett to her Mother; she rather thinks the woman is pathetic.

But, alas, Kylo Hux is her mother, and there is nothing she can do but put up with her. Perhaps if Father were less enamoured, Scarlett would be able to persuade him to let their Mother join Delilah the cat, her numerous, old dissections and Old Mr. Snoke who used to be their neighbour and had liked to spy on Mother through the windows in their large backyard. Scarlett knows well the endless love her Father has for her Mother, so she would never voice the idea. It doesn’t stop her from thinking about it, occasionally, when their Mother is being particularly useless.

She thinks about it often, in other words.

Her Father takes a deep breath, and lets it out after a moment. He reaches for the bookmark laying on the small table next to him, and places that between the pages instead of his fingers. He snaps the book shut, places it on the table, and gestures for her to come closer. He uncrosses his legs as she does, and pulls her up to sit in his lap.

“Remind me of the exact wording of your question.” He tells her, even though she knows that he has not forgotten. Her Father has an excellent memory.

“Why do you tolerate Mother’s ineptitude.” He nods, reaching for his pipe, and makes a contemplative noise in the back of his throat. He jostles her slightly as he packs his pipe and lights it, but the movements are familiar to her. Her earliest memory is of her Father and his pipe. It was dark, and she had no recollection of why they’d been out so late at night. Oliver was swaddled in the back seat, bright red tuft of hair the only recognisable feature. Her Father had undone her seatbelt and taken her from the car to the house, the red embers of the pipe as he inhaled the only light in the dark.

“Why do you think I do?” He turns the question back on her, which she had expected. He always does it, when Oliver and herself have a question. He’ll ask them their opinions, and walk them through the problem until they arrive at the correct answer themselves. Usually Scarlett needs no help, unlike Oliver. But she has puzzled and puzzled over this for almost as long as she can remember. The contrast between her orderly, perfectionist Father and her chaotic, useless Mother has long been apparent.

“Because you love her.” It is the only answer she has, and she is sure that it is at least partially correct. But the idea of having love be the full answer annoys Scarlett. Surely there is another reason, rather than sentimentality. Scarlett loved her brother, but she would still cut him open if Father gave her permission. She hasn’t yet been able to move up from small household pets, such as cats and dogs. Having a perfect subject following her around is quite frustrating.

“I do. I love your Mother, and you and Oliver, very much. But that is only part of the reason.” Scarlett can feel the edges of her lips quirk up in success. She had been right. She quite likes being right, it gives her a pleasant feeling. And as she is quite often correct, it is a feeling she knows well.

“I think you are old enough to hear this, Häschen. You are a big girl now, yes?” He is looking at her seriously, as though if he looks hard enough he will find the small child that she used to be lurking just under the surface. She nods at him, solemn and serious. She’s old enough to know any truths that her Father would give her.

“I am, Father.”

“Alright. I am telling you this with the knowledge that you will not tell anyone else. Am I correct in trusting you like this?” Scarlett nods again, harder. She would never betray her Father’s confidence in her.

“Good.” A large palm settles on her upper back, between her shoulder, and Scarlett watches her Father with rapt attention.

“My parents were ill suited for each other. Shortly after we moved to America, he became violent. In this way, he killed both himself and my mother, though she died several months after he did.” Scarlett had not known that about her Grandparents. Mother never spoke of her family, and the only thing she knew of her Father’s family was that they were German. It was Father’s first language and, even though he’s lived in America for longer than Scarlett has been alive, sometimes he forgets the words he needs in English.

Scarlett knows he finds such things frustrating, but Mother is able to smooth out the displeased wrinkle in his brow. She’ll come up behind Father and wrap her arms around him, kissing his cheek and offering words which she thinks might fit. Eventually they will stumble upon the word together, or Father will remember on his own, and the conversation may continue.

Father has been teaching her and Oliver German, so sometimes she is able to help as well. If he says the word in German, and it is one she knows, she is able to offer up the correct translation. Father will pat her on the head, tell her that she is a smart girl, and Mother will give her a kiss on the cheek.

“I resolved to never be in such a relationship. I decided that I would find someone who was perfect for me - someone who matched me in every sense.” Scarlett keeps her face neutral, but her Father is able to tell her thoughts any way.

“Ah, you think that your Mother and I are ill matched also?” He sounds amused, and he takes puff from his pipe, teeth flashing in the light from the fire. Scarlett feels that sensation again, the one she will never recognise as danger, before her Father exhales smoke and the feeling passes.

“Yes Father.” She sees no point in pretending she hadn’t thought it, when they both know she had.

“You think this because sometimes she has bad days, and on those days she cannot cook and clean, or even look after herself?” Scarlett nods, fringe falling into her eyes as she does so. She pushes it out of her face and behind her ears. It has been a good day, and so Mother will plait it for her before she puts Scarlett to bed.

“And what happens on your Mother’s bad days? Who cooks, and takes care of her?” The answer to that question is obvious, Scarlett doesn’t even have to think before she answers.

“You do, Father.” Scarlett has a half remembered memory from years ago, one which she half thinks is a dream. Mother had a bad day, but tried to cook because Father wanted her to. There was smoke, and then fire, before Father sorted out the situation.

“Exactly. We are well matched. Your Mother does her best for me, and when she cannot, I help her. And she does try her best, you know this.” Scarlett knows. She also knows that sometimes a person’s best isn’t good enough. Vivienne, a girl in her class, tries her best in Math, but that does not mean that she is able to pass all her tests.

“So you put up with Mother because you love her, and you are well matched?” She asks, unsure if the small addition makes for a satisfying enough answer.

“And because she is mine, of course. Imagine all the trouble she could get in, if she was not here.” Just the thought of her poor, useless Mother anywhere other than their house was enough to make Scarlett grimace. Her Father nods, smoking still, before he moves to set his pipe down in its holder again.

“Normally I would not have told you this, but you are much like I was as a child. You will understand, one day. Someone will catch your eye, and you will do as I did, Häschen. You will make them yours, and keep them with you forever, regardless of any complications.” Scarlett can understand possessiveness. She does not like other people playing with her things, either. Or with Oliver.

“Does that answer your question, Scarlett?” She holds eye contact with him as she thinks it over. Love, being well matched, and possessiveness. She thinks that she understands how a combination of these three things enables Father to tolerate Mother’s behaviour, and love her in spite of it.

“Yes. Thank you Father.” She stretches up to press a kiss to his cheek, and slides down from his lap.

“You’re welcome. Are you going to bed now?” She nods, and he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Häschen.” His lips are tilted up at the edges, and Scarlett returns her Father’s smile with one of her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Also as far as I know there are two other stories written about this verse on AO3. I haven't read them yet because I was too busy writing this, but I'm gonna go read them now. Judging by the tags, I'm gonna say they've fully embraced this verse, and to _please_ read the tags instead of diving straight in.
> 
> They are **God Help This Divorce** and **Meurtre: Kylux Middle Class Family AU**.


End file.
